Remus had always been living life on the edge. Stress was his greatest companion, and had been his closest ally since he was a mere child.

As a child he would often make himself poorly with worry and stress, unable to find a solution aside from scratching at the skin of his arms. But thankfully he learned to cope.

With everything going on, the order, his teaching position, the recent full moons, his hair had begun to show signs of stress too.

Once deep Mahogany roots, which the turned a soft, sweet caramel colour, had begun to grey. It was barely visible due to the sheer amount he still possessed, but that didn’t stop him from noticing.

So one day whilst you were in bed, flicking through a book, he was focused on his roots in the mirror. “Angel? Am I going grey?”